Desmond David Hume. (ourmutualfriend) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-01-15 20:27:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !closed |
Who? Desmond Hume & Freddie Lyon
Where? The hospital.
When? Tuesday evening.
What? Flash-forwards, chance meetings, crazy ramblings.
Rating? Hmm. Moderate? Ish.
Status? Also open to Bel & Charlie if you like. Ongoing.
Since Desmond had arrived on the beach and moved to the hospital with Charlie, he hadn't done much exploring. This wasn't through a lack of curiosity- he was curious all right, he was more than curious- but there was no way he was leaving Charlie unguarded. There was just no way- he didn't know who these people were, he didn't know where they had come from, he didn't know what island he was on now, or if it was a different part of the same island. There were far too many unanswered questions, and from what he'd heard on the network (Dr Watson had provided him with communication devices, which mysteriously held his identity within them-) people were just disappearing. He didn't trust people just disappearing, so he would stay put and make sure Charlie didn't disappear on him. He couldn't have that. So far, he'd had no more flashes about Charlie's inevitable death, and he hoped it would stay that way.
He was feeling fine himself, and since Dr Watson was rather preoccupied- Sherlock Holmes was among the missing, unfortunately- Desmond had been doing his best to keep Charlie stable and comfortable. There were others in the room- a patient, another constant visitor, presumably his girlfriend, but Desmond had mostly avoided them. He didn't want to be rude, but- he didn't want to be involved, either.
Both patients were sleeping, and Desmond perched on a chair and attempted to read a book to pass the time. It wasn't really working- there was far too much on his mind, but there was no good planning anything until Charlie was healthy.
A strange sensation washed over him- he glanced up. The patients were gone- no, not gone, this wasn't the same ward at all, he wasn't even certain it was the same building. Someone was coming. He quickly sat down- hadn't he been sitting down already?- and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Voices. It was Dr Watson, having a conversation-
Desmond opened one eye, and then the other, and peered out into the corridor beyond. Footsteps. Dr Watson entered the room, followed by- "Oh, you found him again. Has everyone been found?" Desmond asked, curious more than confused. But something wasn't right-
"Found him again?" John was asking of him, smiling despite his obvious concern. Something really wasn't right. Sherlock- it wasn't possible, of course, but he appeared to be pregnant. Desmond looked between the two of them frantically, searching for an answer that wasn't about to be given.
"Is this- um- Sherlock said we were going to have a look at your head?" John going on.
"My head? I'm- Jesus, yeah, maybe you should-" he stammered, noticing the way the two of them gave each other a rather knowing glance. What did they know? "What the hell is-"
In the present time, Far From the Madding Crowd thudded onto the floor, and Desmond slumped back in his chair. Motionless, as if he had fainted, but with his eyes still open, glassy, staring blankly at nothing.
After about thirty seconds, his sentence was finished in the present time "-going on?!"